In His Eyes
by tipthecabbie2.0
Summary: Omegaverse, Johnlock, BDSM, Dom!John, Sub!Sherlock, Alpha!John, Omega!Sherlock etc. Mostly lovely fluff, though! uwu they're too cute omg. Ooc, but cute. Sorry for the short hiatus, but I'm back now. Mary may appear soon, if His Last Vow proves that she's not a terrorist or some shit.
1. Chapter 1

In His Eyes, Chapter one

**Hello! Okay so this is my first Omegaverse fic, and it's slightly AU because of this; there are equal numbers of Alphas, Betas, and Omegas, and each person, regardless of whether Alpha, Beta, or Omega, has a set partner or group that they go with (think soul mates with the possibility of polyamory, also group bonding. In the case of polyamoury, Alphas get bitten on the wrist, Betas on the shoulder, and Omegas on the neck.) Omega!Sherlock x Alpha!John, Mystrade (I'll leave you to wonder who's alpha in there for a while), Alpha!Moriarty x Omega!Moran, (unbonded) Omega!Irene. Have fun, lovelies!**

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At this point in his life, John Watson doubted that he would ever find his Intended. Even if he did, who's to say that they would be interested in him; an ex-army doctor with a limp deported on invalid. Though she never said it, John knew that Ella, his therapist, thought that it was doubtful as well.

So when an old uni friend, Mike Stamford, introduced John to Sherlock Holmes, an Omega who was looking for a flatshare in central London, John was shocked to find that the second that he made eye contact with the tall, dark-haired man, both of them were hit in the chest with something incredibly powerful, and approximately the weight of an 18-wheeled truck.

They didn't break eye contact at all as they fell, by some miracle, knowing exactly what was happening, and exactly how important it was not to look away; if the bond between two or more Intendeds was incomplete, there was a high risk of damage to the central nervous system, and in some cases, even death to all individuals in the set, regardless of whether or not they had found the other people that they were Intended to.

"Well, I hoped that maybe you two would get along, but I had no idea that you would end up being Intended! I'll leave you to it, then, some privacy to start to know each other." Stamford left as John and Sherlock were picking themselves up off of the floor and carefully sitting down, sure to keep eye contact until the bond was complete.

The bond between Intendeds was different than the bonds between Alphas and Omegas; Intendeds could communicate through thought just as easily as out loud, no matter how far away they were, where between Alphas and Omegas who were not Intended, the best of a link that one could hope for would be an emotive reading within a certain range. The initial bonding between Intendeds also transferred important information; everything from food allergies and clothing preferences to kinks to how they liked their coffee.

As the flood of information threatened to drown John, all he could do was to stare into the eyes of this stranger and remember to blink occasionally. He was learning absolutely everything about this (admittedly gorgeous) man, much more than had been described to him as being passed between two Intended… John noted each new bit of information with interest, in particular the layout to a structure of some kind… and then, suddenly he could see the entire building in his head, a gorgeous design of soaring white marble and rosewood, with ceilings at least 30 feet above John's head and mahogany bookcases lining the whole of it. On the bookshelves, in place of books, were vials and organs in various states of decay, fabrics, and a ridiculous number of jars marked 'tobacco ash' with serial numbers and botanical names on each label. The shelves also contained information, raw, unformed information with no need for a container or ink on a page.

"I call it my mind palace," came a deep, baritone-on-the-edge-of-bass voice from just behind John. John started and turned to see Sherlock standing about two feet away, smiling slightly. He continued. "I've had to open an entirely new wing dedicated to you, it should be more comfortable there. Come along, John." It was as if they had known each other their entire lives, and yet they had only just met. John smiled as he followed, taking the taller man's hand as they walked, and said, "I thought that there was only supposed to be a little bit of information shared, not our entire lives?"

John could see every memory that passed through the bond in intense detail; he soon found that the flow of information was slowing. Sherlock noted John's amazement and said, "I have hyperthymesia; I remember every event that has ever taken place in my life as clearly as it had just happened. As a result, in order to keep my thoughts organised, I have developed this place. That's probably why there's so much information for you to take in; It's almost too much for me to take sometimes, and I've dealt with it my whole life. I'll try to hold back as much as possible for now and slow down the transfer; there's nothing saying that the bond can't form without every piece of information. If you need to sit, just let me know, I'll find you a spot. How's your shoulder?"

"It's fine, my leg hurts a bit, but I don't mind. So if this is all in your head, how can I be here? A perk of being your Intended?" "I don't think so. I think that you're in here to facilitate the bond, but that after you leave today, you won't be able to come back to this place unless one of us is seriously hurt and you have to find me." John thought about this for a moment. "Okay. So I guess the next step is to figure out what kind of relationship we want this to be, then. Do you think platonic, for now, or do you want to go for a romantic relationship?" he asked eventually.

"I'd be open to anything that you'd want, to be honest. I didn't think that I even had an Intended, and I wasn't really looking for romantic attachment because of that, so you being so open about everything helps a lot. I'd say that we should probably be platonic to start, just to get used to each other, and then let whatever happens happen, but I guess the bonding process works so that we'll already know that we're compatible. So I'm happy with whatever you want, I suppose."

Sherlock was suddenly aware that the transfer was ending, and held John out to face him. "We should choose now, before we go back out to the lab consciously, do we want a romantic relationship?" he hesitated slightly, trying not to let the hope show through his eyes as he held eye contact with John. John stretched up on his toes and placed a cautious, chaste kiss to the corner of Sherlock's mouth, closing his eyes as he felt the transfer, and his connection to the mind palace, dissipate.

He opened his eyes, back in the lab at St. Bart's, blushing, and looked at the floor when he saw that Sherlock's eyes were still closed. _Shit, he thought, I've finally found my Intended and I fucked it up in the same twenty minutes._ He therefore didn't see when Sherlock leaned toward him to cup his jaw gently in order to turn his face. **No, you haven't, John.** John's eyes widened as Sherlock gently brushed his thumb against John's lower lip and smiled before closing the distance between them.

As they sat on the floor, John heard the door of the lab open and a surprised 'Oh!' from a woman. Sherlock pulled away to look up, and smiled. "Molly, hello." his brow furrowed slightly. "What happened to the lipstick? You were wearing lipstick before," he pointed out. "It erm, it wasn't working for me. I brought your coffee, also. Who's this?" She set the hot mug of the acid that hospitals attempt to pass as coffee on the desk where Sherlock could reach. "Oh, sorry, introductions. John, this is Molly, she works in the morgue and is an invaluable source of materials. Molly, this is John, my Intended. We've really only just met, I suppose."

John stood and shook Molly's hand, smiling. "Hello, Molly." She smiled timidly, not making eye contact. John noted this; Most people immediately made eye contact upon meeting a new person in order to determine whether or not they were Intended. **She's never made eye contact with me either**, Sherlock confided mentally to John. _What, never? _John asked, incredulous._ Isn't she curious?_

Their mental conversation was interrupted as Molly addressed them again. "I'd better get back to work, I've got four postmortems this afternoon," she admitted, ducking out of the room before John or Sherlock could say goodbye or thanks for the coffee. **I think that she's an Unintended. That would explain her unwillingness to make eye contact. She's an Omega, so it's a definite possibility.**_ An Unintended? I thought that was just a myth! Aren't they supposed to be able to create temporary bonds with anybody that they make eye contact with?_ John's eyebrows raised as he stared past the door after Molly. Sherlock, meanwhile, was packing up the experiments that he had been working on. **Come on, I've no more reason to be here; We can look at the flat. Mrs. Hudson said that she would give me a special deal on the rent at 221B Baker st.** _Okay, sounds good. I've nothing on for the rest of the day anyway._


	2. Chapter 2

**I enjoy writing monstrously long chapters.**

~Several weeks and not a small few cases later~

"Tea?" John called from the kitchen, aware of the soft murmur of Sherlock's thought processes in the back of his own mind. **No, thank you, John**, Sherlock replied, slightly drawn from his thoughts. The Omega was laying on the couch, having just showered, in pj's and his dressing robe. He was nearing his first heat since he and John had met and he was very nervous; He was a virgin, and the fact that he was gay had been a very tender subject with his parents; his father had attempted to beat it out of him. _Sherlock, what was that? _Shit, John had felt that across the bond. **Nothing, John, just a memory**, he half-lied cautiously. John came and sat in the curve behind his knees, holding a cuppa in his left and carefully lay his right hand on Sherlock's upper thigh.

"You know, you can tell me what's going on… I think that's kind of the idea of having an Intended. Is it because of your heat? I usually don't like to just pin this sort of thing on heats, but to be honest I've never been with an Omega before, I don't know how your chemistry works as well." **It has to do with that, I suppose**, Sherlock admitted, grasping John's hand and tugging on his arm gently until John set his mug down on the floor and curled up against Sherlock's back, pressing light little kisses to the back of his neck. _I care about you, Sherlock. Please could you let me in?_

There's a general silence for a few moments before Sherlock turns over on the couch to face John. "Really? You mean it, you're not just saying so?" John's breath caught in his throat. This is the first time that Sherlock has ever spoken directly to him out loud, and the only other times that John had actually heard his voice were at the lab with Molly or when he was making abrasive comments toward the Yard. His mental voice, although lovely, paled in comparison to the deep vibration that John now felt against his chest. John smiled and wrapped his arms around the detective's waist. _Of course. I couldn't lie to you even if I had wanted to. You should talk out loud more often, your voice is lovely._

Sherlock hummed in response, and John smiled wider. "John?" "Yes, Sherlock?" "Are you okay with this? I mean, I know that you've already given your responses and everything, but I wanted to check again… I could see you being hesitant in this situation." "What do you mean? I'm incredibly happy to have found you, if that's what you mean… Aren't you?" Sherlock suddenly pushed John off of his chest to look him in the eyes, a worried expression plastered on his face. "Of course I am, John! What do you think I am? Upset that I ended up with a perfect Intended? I'm simply stating the obvious: I'm inadequate as a romantic partner and I can only imagine how bad I'll be as a sexual one."

John simply shook his head and smirked slightly before leaning over and kissing Sherlock's nose. _You'll do fine, love. We can take it as slow as you want to. If you need me to leave for your first few heats, then I'm okay with that. Whatever makes you comfortable. _Sherlock held him closer at the endearment and whispered, "I want this, though, I want to make you happy. I care about you, John." "I love you too, Sherlock," John replied, nuzzling into the crook of Sherlock's jaw and kissing his throat gently. "But I don't want you to want this just to make me happy. It would feel too much like taking advantage of you, and I want so much more than that for you. I couldn't live with myself if you regretted it because of something I'd done."

He punctuated every sentence with a kiss to his love's throat, not asking for anything, not needing anything extra. Sherlock had to stifle a moan as John's lips brushed against his clavicle, halfway covered by the old tee shirt that he wore under his bathrobe. _Please don't hold back, love. If you're going to moan, moan as loudly as you want. _John felt so comfortable surrounded by Sherlock's voice, and to think that he was causing these noises was incredible. He hazarded a flick of his tongue, reaching out to taste Sherlock's skin and eliciting a rather loud moan from his partner.

**John. **Sherlock was still moaning as John continued to tongue the vast expanse of his neck. **John, please, take me tonight.** _It isn't your heat yet, is it? _"Please, John, please…?" Sherlock was slightly incoherent as John started to nip at his clavicle and endorphins started to flood his system. _Are you sure? It's okay if you want to wait, love. This type of bonding is supposed to be really painful when you're not on your heat… _**Please, John, I want this. **Sherlock found that he couldn't properly trust his voice not to stumble over his words or to simply turn into a moan, so he used their mental link.

_Upstairs, my bedroom. _They had opted out of sharing a bedroom at first, so John had taken a spare bedroom upstairs. As the pair of them made their way up the stairs, John behind Sherlock, occasionally pausing to caress his legs through the loose fabric of his pyjamas. Sherlock would shudder each time at the contact, causing them to take much longer than necessary to climb the stairs. When they did get to the landing, John placed his hand on Sherlock's arm to stop him from opening the door.

"Sherlock, I need to warn you. I'm very, _very_ dominant in bed. I may do things that you're uncomfortable with, and I need you to tell me if it gets to be too much, okay? I don't really like the idea of 'safe words' because I think that it's redundant. If you need me to stop, just tell me so. Whatever happens, know that I love you. Are you absolutely certain that you want this for yourself, and not just to make me happy?" **Of course, John**, Sherlock mentally sighed (if that makes sense…?) and opened the door, taking John inside.

"While we're in here, I need you to listen to me and do everything that I tell you to, Sherlock, can you do that for me?" a nod. "I need you to be polite to me, speak only when spoken to, answer all questions, and address me as 'sir.' I will call you by name, or by 'pet,' or anything else that strikes my fancy. Is that okay?" "Yes, sir." John's heart very nearly skipped a beat at the open submissiveness that his love was displaying. Although Sherlock was an Omega, and therefore more traditionally expected to be submissive to John, his Alpha, Sherlock had such a dominant personality that John had half expected a power play.

John moved slowly, removing Sherlock's clothing gently, caressing every inch of skin as it became exposed, thinking how lovely and creamy the colour was, when suddenly he stopped, noticing scar tissue stretched across Sherlock's ribs. Individual letters were scattered across the whole of his abdomen, now that John looked harder. They looked as though they had once been parts of words. There were also clean lines and jagged curves covering his stomach, and the familiar columns of much more recent self-harm scars coated his hips.

The scar that had caught John's attention was stretched out along Sherlock's side, one letter on each of the visible ribs: FAGGOT. John tentatively brushed the letters with his fingertips as his vision went red. "Who did this to you, love?" "My father, sir." John's fingers trembled against his love's skin, imagining a younger Sherlock, trembling with fear as a dark figure stood over him with a knife. "Why didn't this come through during the initial bond?" he asked, his voice trembling. "I held it back, I didn't know how you would react, sir," Sherlock responded, carefully keeping his voice level.

John gently kissed each letter of the foul derogatory on his Intended's waist before looking up and asking, "Do you want to proceed, pet? We don't have to do this whole dominant/submissive thing, it was just an idea. I don't want to hurt you." Sherlock avoided John's eyes and he whispered, "What if I asked you very nicely, sir? Would you please hurt me then?" John's eyes went wide. He hadn't expected that.

He gently nibbled the top of Sherlock's hipbone above the waistband of his pants and gripped the backs of his thighs, pulling down the fabric slightly, not enough to expose Sherlock's erection, but enough to tease him. "Please lie on your front on the bed, with your hands above your head. I'd like to bind them, if that's okay. Is it, pet? Would you like that?" He had moved his way slowly up Sherlock's body, gently nibbling his flesh, and he whispered the last bit directly in his pet's ear, causing the detective's breath to catch briefly in his throat before he complied, whispering "Yes, please, sir, bind me, please."

John straddled his love's hips, tracing patterns over his back, following the patterns of the scars riddling his back like broken glass that hadn't quite shattered. He reached into his bedside table and pulled out a length of soft white cotton rope, winding it around Sherlock's wrists and kissed his shoulder gently. "May I strike you, pet?" he asked, gently nipping at the trapezus muscle and noting how Sherlock's lower back arched down into the mattress as he did so. "Ah! Please, sir, strike me!"

John hesitated slightly before whispering, "You will thank me for each and every single blow, and I will not tell you ahead of time how many, how fast, or how hard they will be. Do you understand?" "Yes, sir, I understand, sir." John sat back up on his heels, straddling Sherlock's hips, and, stroking his back with one hand, brought the other high above him before bringing it back down, hard, rubbing over the reddened skin afterward and revelling in how easily it was marked and how warm his love was beneath him. Sherlock flinched slightly, before relaxing into it and enunciating, "Thank-you, sir. Please hit me again, sir."

This continued in the same manner for an additional twenty-two blows, by the end of which Sherlock was a moaning mess beneath John and John was breathing rather raggedly. John's erection was weeping copiously and Sherlock was now not only begging to be hit but also for John to fuck him. John started to massage Sherlock's back gently, trying to work out some of the knots that he had felt under the skin there. Sherlock keened for him, squirming. John struck his arse firmly, reminding his pet not to speak without having been spoken to.

Finally, when John couldn't take it any longer, he reached into the bottom drawer of the bedside table and pulled out a bottle of lube, because although he knew that Omegas were self-lubricating, he wanted to make this as easy and as pleasurable as possible for Sherlock. "Flip over, please, pet," he ordered Sherlock, who complied immediately, looking up at John lovingly. "Love, do you want to bond tonight, or do you want to wait for your heat? It's supposed to be less painful..?" "Tonight, please, sir, I'd like to bond with you tonight, if that's okay."

John cupped Sherlock's jaw, kissing him as gently and lovingly as he knew how to do, before whispering, "Love, I'd like it if you would bite me first, please. You can just call me John from now, and I'll untie you, alright, Sherlock? I love you so much, darling. I haven't hurt you too badly, have I?" "No, love, I'm fine." John's heart swelled at the endearment and he bowed his head to kiss Sherlock again, taking in the nicotine-and-sugared-tea taste of him, and trying to convey how much he loved this man.

He lay down beside Sherlock, coaxing him to sit straddling his hips, and gently, slowly, raised his right wrist to Sherlock's lips, allowing the detective to gently take his arm in his fingertips, kissing the tender, sensitive skin above John's pulse point. Sherlock's teeth grazed the skin just slightly, and John's breath caught for a moment.

"I love you so much, John," Sherlock murmured against his skin before sinking his teeth into his love's flesh, hearing John's screams and tasting his blood, hot and lovely and tasting strongly of iron, as could be expected. He felt John convulsing beneath him, his screams echoing through the small room, and Sherlock looked into his eyes apologetically, reaching his left hand down to brush the tears away from his face while holding his right hand. He only intended to take the minimum amount of blood needed to bond, but when he had tried to move away, John had whimpered pathetically and pleaded with him to please take more.

Sherlock pulled away after a few moments, kissing the open wound on John's wrist in order to distract John from the pain in any minute way that he could manage. He licked at it tentatively, surprised that the bond was already strong enough to allow Sherlock to heal John. The wound closed itself after his tongue traced over it, leaving it bright red, but healed as much as it would as long as their bond was strong.

John sighed at the endorphins now flooding his system as the pain left, leaving the feeling of Sherlock's gentle kisses very welcome. He was vaguely aware that Sherlock was laying next to him, but he couldn't for the life of him remember why his pet had stopped kissing him… Oh yes. It was his turn now.

John rolled over so that he was above Sherlock, looking into his eyes as if for permission. He found it and began to gently kiss his love's mouth, face, and neck, licking softly at the skin just below his jaw, at the pulse point. Sherlock's scent was overwhelming, and John quickly found that he was laving over the skin, trying to taste the blood there without hurting him.

"Sherlock…" he murmured, his lips brushing against the now-damp skin, the moving air causing the breath to catch in the submissive's throat. "John, please can we get this over with? Please just bite me so that you can shag me senseless." John's eyes widened slightly at Sherlock's eagerness. After one last tender kiss over his love's jugular, John whispered, "I'm so sorry, my love," and sank his teeth into Sherlock's skin.

Sherlock's cries were strangled and loud as his blood ran down John's throat, and both of them cried from pain, as it came through on the telepathic link to John and he drank deeply to make the pain worth it, the bond stronger than it would otherwise have been. Sherlock writhed beneath John, fingers clawing at the sheets below him just to have something, anything, to hang on to. John stroked Sherlock's face gently, his thumb catching the tears as they dripped down the detective's face.

When he had taken enough blood, he withdrew himself from the wound and gently kissed Sherlock, tracing his fingers around the wound, healing it. Sherlock could taste his own blood on John's lips and shuddered at the once-familiar feeling of being healed. _I'm so sorry, love, please forgive me._ Sherlock was shocked to find that he could now 'hear' John's voice when he used the link. **Shh, it's okay, John, I love you, I'm so sorry, we could have waited, I pushed you into doing this tonight.**

John tentatively trailed his fingers down Sherlock's jaw, looking into his eyes. By this point, his erection was painfully evident; the endorphins had done nothing to hinder his arousal. He kissed Sherlock deeply, hungrily, leaving him panting below him. John picked up the rope and secured Sherlock's wrists to the headboard, kissing each wrist in turn as he did so, and trailing his lips down his left arm to kiss his shoulder, down his chest, and his abdomen, and tugging his pyjama bottoms down and off, tossing them aside carelessly.

"Spread your legs, pet." Sherlock complied with a "Yes, sir." "This will feel strange at first, so be ready." He settled between Sherlock's legs and licked his length with the flat of his tongue, before gently licking patterns against his perineum, working his way lower. As he laved over Sherlock's hole he could taste the natural lubricant of his arousal, and he moaned, feeling his love writhe and feeling him digging his heels into John's shoulders and crying out.

John smirked as he licked over his love's opening again, this time adding slightly more pressure and dipping in slightly, rejoicing at the high-pitched keens and moans coming from his Intended, and he quickly began to fuck him with his tongue, stroking his inside. Quickly this wasn't enough for Sherlock, and he began to moan incoherently, pleading with John to fuck him.

John took the hint and removed his tongue, replacing it with his fingers quickly, three of them, stretching Sherlock. He curled the tips slightly and was rewarded by a loud gasp and a keen. **Please fuck me, sir, please…** John struck Sherlock's thigh, reminding him not to speak without being spoken to. _You're mine, and you will obey me_, he reminded Sherlock. _I'll indulge you just this once, but if you disobey me again, there will be consequences. Understood?_ **Yes, sir, I understand, sir, I'm sorry.**

John removed his fingers from Sherlock and lubed his cock with the store-bought lubricant that he had pulled from the drawer. He positioned himself at Sherlock's entrance and made eye contact with Sherlock as he pushed in as gently as he could manage, cupping his love's face gently, brushing away the inevitable tears and attempting not to buck fiercely into the tight heat of his bonded.

Sherlock squirmed at the intrusion, attempting to make his muscles relax around John, struggling slightly against his bonds. John struck his waist, whispering, "You will accept that I have bound you, and you will thank me for this. I'm going to strike you again, Sherlock, and you will thank me for each blow, just like before. Only this time, I'm going to use my belt, and mark you as my own. Nobody will dare to touch you now, they'll know exactly who you belong to. I'm going to fuck you at the same time, and these blows are more than likely to break your skin. I will not heal them. They will definitely bruise you. Do you understand?"

A nod. "I asked you if you understood me, pet, do I have to repeat myself?" He asked, squeezing the sides of Sherlock's throat, not in a way to constrict his breathing, but just enough to cause another rush of endorphins. "Yes sir, I understand. I'm sorry, sir, can you ever forgive me?" Sherlock's voice rumbled from his chest, and John slapped his face, (avoiding his nose and teeth) and squeezed his throat again as he pulled out of Sherlock to reach down and grab his belt from the floor beside the bed.

John turned Sherlock over roughly, having left enough rope between his wrists and the bed frame for him to move a bit. He re-entered Sherlock a bit more roughly than intended, but this was a punishment, and so he didn't apologise. He raised the belt high above his head and brought it down hard as he began to thrust into his pet.

"Thank-you, sir," Sherlock whispered, his voice trembling from the pleasure-pain of John rocking his hips and occasionally slamming into him, combining with the feeling of being completely and utterly full, gasping as he felt more than heard his love's rumbling moans behind him.

Soon both of them were incredibly close, and John began striking Sherlock more quickly, leaving time only for an intake of breath before repeating. Sherlock shook below him, pleading wordlessly for his release, and John threw down the belt, changing his angle slightly to brush against Sherlock's prostate on every stroke.

He could feel his knot tightening and he pulled Sherlock's head to the side by his hair, sloppily kissing him, all lips and teeth and tongue. He offered his bond bite to Sherlock, who kissed it gently and held his hand.

Sherlock came first, screaming John's name before biting into the previous mark, though not breaking the skin this time. His screams were just slightly muffled and he shook and convulsed under John, his muscles constricting around his love, until John came, whiting out as he bit into the fresh scar on Sherlock's shoulder.

They collapsed onto the bed sideways, Sherlock still revelling in the feeling of being full of John and his seed. John reached up and released Sherlock's binds before wrapping his arms firmly around the detective's waist and drifting to sleep, content in the knowledge that Sherlock was his completely.


	3. Chapter 3

_**I'm so sorry, you guys are going to hate me. **_

John woke the next morning to find that Sherlock had twisted himself around to cuddle into his arms. John sighed contentedly as he felt Sherlock's body pulse gently around his now-flaccid cock (How had Sherlock managed not to pull off?) and held his bonded tighter. "Good morning, pet," John cooed, bringing one hand up to stroke his love's ridiculous cheekbone. Sherlock relaxed into the touch and hummed gently.

"mmhh" he sighed, the tiredness evident in his baritone-bass voice as he yawned. John smirked and sat up, pulling out and noting how Sherlock's brow furrowed at the slight loss of contact. "Come on, love, I know you're awake, and we have to get cleaned up." He was just starting to feel strange at the feeling of his love's dried cum covering his belly and the blood from their bonding still covering the sheets and themselves.

"Jaaawwwn, five more minutes? Pleeeeaaaaaaase?" Sherlock mumbled, clinging to his pillow as John stood and started to pull him out of bed by his ankle. "No, Sherlock, come on, we need to shower. I'll wash your hair for you." This was one of the things that Sherlock had allowed to pass through the initial transfer; He absolutely _loved_ having his hair washed, especially if he himself wasn't the one doing the washing. John smirked again as he felt the sudden willingness to comply (coming from Sherlock) in the back of his own mind.

He let go of Sherlock's ankle and started to the bathroom just across the hall; he didn't want to go downstairs just yet, not at least until he was clean and partially dressed. He was pleased to find that Sherlock followed him without further argument; even more so as he leaned down to turn on the taps for a scalding shower and felt Sherlock's lips brushing his spinal column. The detective was still rubbing the sleep from his eyes, but John could feel the incessant thrum of Sherlock's thought processes in the back of his mind.

John grasped Sherlock's hand and pulled him into the shower, not bothering to wait for it to heat up. The brunet shivered at the icy water but relaxed as it started to warm up, gently cleaning them both as they lazily held each other. John reached behind Sherlock for the shampoo and nudged his love. _Lean over, I can't reach properly like this and I don't want to get shampoo in your eyes._ Sherlock complied happily and breathed deeply, taking in the smell of the shampoo; it smelled of galangal and lemongrass, and it was unexpectedly but undeniably a John-smell.

John gently scrubbed Sherlock's scalp, allowing the tips of his fingers to not quite scratch, and Sherlock hummed in contentment, closing his eyes and having to place his hands on John's hips to steady himself. The smaller man smiled and kissed his love's forehead, feeling incredibly lucky to have this lovely man for an Intended. _Okay, rinse, don't get soap in your eyes._

oOo

Skip ahead two years and, once again, for what seemed like the third time this month, it was the beginning of Sherlock's heat. John was sitting in his armchair, reading the paper, or at least attempting to, while Sherlock paced around the flat, stepping on the tables and chairs in his way. **BORED!** He practically screamed (mentally) at John. _Sorry, not much I can do about that, love._ John was nearing the end of his rope; it had been forty-five minutes since the pacing had started, and that had been pre-ambled by crap telly and trying to find John's gun (with which to shoot the wall).

John had an idea; he made sure to have it quietly though, as it wouldn't work if Sherlock knew about it. He covered up his idea with a wave of false annoyance and got up from his chair abruptly, putting the paper on the coffee table as he did. He threw on his coat as Sherlock continued to pace but found himself constantly looking back to John. **Where are you going, John?** "Out," came the simple reply. "No, you can't come with me. Wait upstairs on the bed; I'll be home in an hour or less." He subsequently left, but not before taking a link suppressant to stop Sherlock from prying. Which of course only further piqued his curiosity. Wonderful.

oOo

John stood, in the middle of a sex shop, in front of the butt plugs and vibrators. He was indecisive; how much was too much, and which would Sherlock prefer? He was caught between a rather large green glass plug (which he personally thought would look quite fetching shoved up his lover's ass) and a long, but thick, blue vibrator with multiple speed settings. He already had in the basket a set of candles designed for wax play, galangal and lemongrass scented lube (as he had remembered how Sherlock always reacted to the smell in the shower), a cock ring, and a pair of nipple clamps.

He eventually decided on both the plug and the vibrator, and started to move toward the register. On the way over, however, he noticed a display of collars, and one in particular that caught his attention; dark brown leather with delicate indigo patterning, and a silver buckle. He noted that the shop offered a leather embossing service, and decided that he could be a little bit late home.

oOo

Sherlock, meanwhile, had stripped and was laying on his back on John's bed, hands steepled under his chin, wandering the 'John' wing of his mind palace. He was anticipating something interesting when his soldier got home, but he wasn't quite sure exactly what was in mind. Something sexual, of that there was no doubt; he had caught the wave of erotica before John put up his wall of annoyance earlier. He was already achingly hard with anticipation, but he refrained from touching himself, not knowing how John would react if he had already reached his climax before he was back. He had been a while… Certainly more than his allotted hour.

Speaking of which… Sherlock's ears metaphorically pricked up as he heard John's key in the door and the familiar rustle of a plastic bag, the still-slightly-uneven footfalls as John walked up the stairs, and, finally, the turning of the bedroom door handle. John came inside, closing and locking the door before he allowed himself to look at his pet, who was now kneeling on the bed with his head bowed and his hand on his thighs, facing him. John's breath caught in his throat momentarily and he removed his jacket before striding over to the bed and placing his right hand on Sherlock's shoulder.

Sherlock stoically remained motionless, impassive, until told to move. "Look at me, Sherlock." He tentatively looked at John, his face showing a mixture of anticipation and lust, with just the right measure of fear. "I brought you some toys, love," John said, a smile just touching his expression as his fingertips brushed Sherlock's jaw, sending a shiver through his love. "Would you like to see?" "Yes, please, sir, would you show me?"

John smirked as he retreated to the door to fetch the plastic bag from where he had dropped it. He brought the whole bag over to the bed, placing it next to Sherlock's leg. He pulled out the lube, vibrator, and plug, feeling that they were the most tame, the best place to start. "These, love, are so that I can tie you up and shove them up your ass, either to loosen you up for me to fuck afterward, or just to torture you and make you beg me for release. Would you like that, love? Would you like me to make you beg for me like my own personal slut?"

"Yes, please, sir, let me beg for you," Sherlock whimpered as John set the vibrator to a very slow, teasing setting and traced a line from his right shoulder down, around his torso, teasing his nipple and dipping down just close enough to his cock to make him keen at the feeling. "I haven't even gotten to the best toys yet, love," John said as he pulled the nipple clamps and cock ring out of the bag, fastening each one in turn to his lover. He kissed Sherlock deeply before pulling out the candles.

"These," he murmured, "are so that I can pour hot wax onto that lovely skin of yours. They are optional, I wasn't sure if you would want them. Do you, my little slut? Would you like me to burn you, and mark you permanently as mine? I don't have to limit myself to the wax, you know; I could just as easily use the flame. What do you think, pet? Shall I?" Sherlock's eyes went wide at being given an option to say no. "Please, sir, I would love it if you would, but I really don't want to have the option to say no. I shouldn't like to have a safe word or a choice in what you do to me; please just take what you need."

John's eyes widened at the amount of trust that Sherlock was placing in him. "Are you sure, Sherlock?" he whispered, unable to keep the worry from his tone. "Yes, sir, please?" John stroked his love's cheek gently with the pad of his thumb. "Okay," he whispered before kissing him more deeply than before. As he pulled away, he whispered, "One more thing." He presented his love with the collar, which he had had embossed on the soft suede inside with _"You are my tether to a world that has always blown me away." _

Sherlock raised his gaze to meet John's, at long last, and he stretched his neck out for the collar to be fastened to. It fit him perfectly, resting on his neck just above his bond bite. John trailed his fingers over it and whispered, "Please keep this on for me. I want the whole world to be jealous of me. I want them all to know that they had the misfortune of having an Intended that wasn't you." Sherlock smiled. "Yes, sir, I promise." Sherlock could see confliction in John's eyes for just a moment (The inhibitor hadn't worn off yet, annoyingly) before John spoke.

"Love, I need to talk to you for a moment" "Yes, sir?" John knelt in front of Sherlock on the floor and placed one hand on each of his knees, looking up into his eyes. "I think that we should start thinking about if we want to have children, love. It won't be very long before we're too old to be running around after a toddler, and I want to make sure that if you want to have kids, you get the chance to. I'm sure that you remember that when we first bonded I told you that I wanted to have children, but I want to leave the choice to you." Sherlock slowly slipped off of the bed and cupped John's jaw in his long hands.

As they kissed, the inhibitor wore off, and John was hit with a barrage of memories and hopes and aspirations and **John, please, please can we? **and all he can do is to hold his love close and kiss him more deeply, eventually remembering to detach the nipple clamps and the cock ring. _Sherlock, love, you're absolutely certain about this? _He asked as he kissed a trail from the detective's lips to his jaw, then collarbone, sternum, and hip.

**Of course, sir. I wouldn't have said so if I didn't absolutely mean it.**

oOo

Six months later, John got out of a cab across the road from st. Bart's. **John.**_ Sherlock, you okay? _**Turn around and walk back the way you came now. **_No, I'm coming in, love. _**Just do as I ask. Please.**John looked around, wondering where Sherlock had gotten to, increasingly worried about his love and their unborn child. He started to walk back down the road as Sherlock had asked. **Stop there. **_Sherlock? _**Okay, look up, I'm on the rooftop. **_Oh, God. _John's eyes widened with horror and shock as he took in the silhouette of his detective, his love, the father of his child, looking for all the world as though he were about to… But no, Sherlock wouldn't, there was no way, this was probably some kind of test or experiment… right?

**I…I can't come down, so we'll just have to do it like this. **_What's going on? _**An apology. It's all true. **_Wh-what? _**Everything they said about me. I invented Moriarty. **_Sherlock, why are you saying this? _**I'm a fake. **_Sherlock… _**The newspapers were right all along. I want you to tell Lestrade; I want you to tell Mrs. Hudson, and Molly… In fact, tell anyone who will listen to you that I invented Moriarty for my own purpose. **_Okay, shut up, Sherlock, shut up. Right now. Don't you think that I can tell? I'm constantly getting your thoughts in the back of my mind, I WOULD KNOW! _John started to move to walk across the street to his love, to pull him back off of the edge, to hold him, tell him everything was okay.

**No, stay ****exactly ****where you are. **John complied reluctantly, holding his hands up in surrender. _All right, love, okay._** Keep your eyes fixed on me. **He reached toward his love. **Please, could you do this for me? **_Do what?_ John's breathing became erratic. **This conversation, it's my note. It's what people do, don't they-? Leave a note? **_Leave a note when?_ John felt his throat constrict and tears began to fill his eyes. **Goodbye, John. **_No, no, you can't- _**I'm going to take an inhibitor- I think that it should make it so that you can live. I love you so much, John, I'm so sorry... **_I don't want to. Not without you, please, Sherlock-! _The link was severed abruptly as Sherlock swallowed a pill.

The raven-haired detective spread his arms wide, a single tear escaping his eyes as he jumped. "SHERLOCK!" John screamed his darling's name as a terrible clawing feeling wracked his chest.

John could hear nothing but roaring silence as he began to run across the street. A bicycle crashed into him, knocking him to the ground, but as soon as he could he was back on his feet and running to his love. A small crowd had formed around his motionless figure, and John tried to get them out of the way, muttering "I'm a doctor, please, let me through, he's my Intended, please…" and eventually was faced with his love, turning him over to see his face… taking his pulse… Oh, dear god, please, let him have lived, please, please…

John fell to his knees and pulled his darling's lifeless form onto his knees, his chest wracked with sobs, and placed his hand over Sherlock's stomach, which had swollen with their child. John felt a kick, and began to sob even harder as he realized that now not only would he lose his family, he had to feel the last of the life fade from his child who hadn't even been born yet. He began to rock slowly, whispering, "I love you both so much... please, please come back to me, please, I love you, please..." but then the paramedics came and wrenched Sherlock from his arms, leaving John on the sidewalk, folding in on himself, covered in blood and tears.


	4. Chapter 4

_**I am SO sorry for leaving you guys hanging like that omg! Here, have a ridiculously long chapter to make up for it! You guys are all complete fuckin cuties!**_

"Father!" Hamish squealed as he ran forward and wrapped his arms around Sherlock's legs. The three year old and his father were incredibly close; Closer than most. "Thank-you, Molly, for looking after him. Hamish, please thank Molly for playing with you today." "Ta, Molly!" "You seem in a rather good mood today, Sherlock," the pathologist noted, smiling. She loved caring for Hamish and his father; although she had previously had a massive crush on the lanky detective, she had been very glad that he and John had found each other.

Besides, it was nice to have somebody that she could make eye contact with; The inhibitor that Sherlock had been taking day and night for three years meant that she could look him in the eye without fear of having her thoughts read. "I finished today," he confided, grinning as he hoisted his son up to his hip. He pressed his lips to Hamish's forehead while rubbing his now-faded (due only to the inhibitor) bonding scar, as well as the collar that John had given him those years ago, now accompanied by John's dog tags (which Sherlock had found three days after the burial placed on his own grave, that's not stealing, thanks), and said, "Do you know what that means, Hamish? It means that we can go home to Baker street. We won't have to burden Molly anymore, and we'll be with your dad!" Hamish's eyes widened and a grin split his face.

"Really? I get to meet Daddy, for real?" Sherlock nodded. "I've already stopped the inhibitor; the link should return soon." Molly smiled, but interjected, "You two haven't been a burden, ever! I've loved having you here!" Sherlock shifted Hamish so that he could be held in one arm, and squeezed Molly's hand in his. "You've been wonderful, Molly, I'm so sorry about the past three months, if I could have told Mycroft I could have had him find us an apartment, but his link with Lestrade…" "That's alright, Sherlock, I'm usually with Irene and Anthea anyway, so it's almost like the two of you have had your own apartment!"

oOo

Meanwhile, at Baker street, John had a massive hangover. As usual. He had yet to rise from the couch; the couch that somehow still smelled like Sherlock. Other than the layer of dust and the bottles littering the floor, he had left the flat almost untouched since that day. He curled into himself, rubbing his now-pale bond scar and felt the tears stain his face once more. He felt like absolute shit; He should have treated Sherlock better, held him closer, done everything to keep him close while he could…

**John? **John sat bolt upright. What the bloody fuck? Was he hallucinating again? He groaned and fell back to the couch. _If this is another hallucination, I swear…_** John, I need you to get all of the alcohol out of the flat, and the more dangerous experiments out of the reach of a tall three year old. Did you save those for me?**_ Sherlock? _**Yes, love, it's me, I'm so sorry… I'm so sorry, John, my love. I needed to protect you and Hamish. Please, please believe me, John, I need this. I need you. **_HOW WAS THIS PROTECTING ME? AND HOW CAN YOU BRING HAMISH INTO THIS? Even if by some miracle, you did survive, there's no way that a fetus- wait… We hadn't decided on names, we had decided to wait until after he, or she for that matter, was born! _**Well, I had to name him, he couldn't just go without a name for the first three years of his life! I'll be there with him in two hours, and that flat had better be safe for him.**

oOo

Hamish sat perched on his father's shoulders as they stood just outside the door of 221B Baker st. "Papa?" "Oui, Hamish? Quel est-il, mon petit?" "Que faire si de pere ne m'aime pas? Ce qui si il pense que je suis bizarre, comme la dame dans les magasins dit?" "Hamish… Hamish, vos père vous aimera tout autant que je fais. Je vous promets, il n'y a rien que vous pourriez éventuellement faire pour lui faire croire que tu es plus bizarre que moi." "Vraiment?" "Oui, Hamish." Hamish grinned at the reassurance. "Je veux le recontrer! Allons-y, papa!"

(Translation: "Father?" "Yes, Hamish? what is it, my little one?" "What if dad doesn't like me? What if he thinks that I'm weird, like the lady in the shops said?" "Hamish… Hamish, your father will love you just as much as I do. I promise you, there's nothing that you can do that will make him think that you're any 'weirder' than me." "Really?" "Yes, Hamish." "I want to meet him! Allons-y!" [P.S. Hamish is a tiny Whovian due to Molly's influence])

As they made their way up the stairs, they were met by the smell of stale alcohol and fresh tea… and tobacco. "John?" Sherlock called tentatively as they stepped through the door and he pulled Hamish from his shoulders. John had, indeed, cleaned up, in hopes that he wasn't crazy, and was now sitting in his armchair with a steaming cup of tea, head in his hands and shaking seemingly uncontrollably. "Daddy?" Hamish squeaked as he walked over slowly.

John looked up slowly at his son, taking in his features; He was fairly stocky, like himself, though he was taller than John had ever been at that age; his hair was ginger-blonde and his eyes were a lovely clear blue. His teeth were crooked, but not enough that he would need corrective braces, and he was grinning hugely at John, holding his arms up to be held. John very nearly choked in the process of withholding his tears as he pulled his child close to him. Sherlock watched from the doorway and smiled.

_Sherlock?_ John didn't trust his voice. He held Hamish and rocked him slowly, pressing kisses into his hair and clinging to him. _Sherlock please can you come here, love, I need you._ Sherlock knelt in front of his family and wrapped his arms around them, kissing John gently, and wiping his tears away with the pad of his thumb. "John, my love, it's okay, I promise, I'm so sorry that we had to leave you, but Moriarty would have killed both of you if I hadn't gone away… I love you so much, my darling, please forgive me, please…" he held them tighter as John kissed him.

_Sherlock, why in the world would I be angry with you? I've been praying for the past three years that you would somehow come back to me, and here you both are. I love you so much, Sherlock, please, please don't leave me alone again. _"Daddy, father, why are you crying? Are you sad? Father, you said that he would be happy, make him happy!" John smiled and pressed another kiss to Hamish's head, whispering, "It's okay, love, I'm crying because I'm so happy. I never thought that I would see either of you again, and now I'm holding you… I love you both so much, I'm so glad that you're home now."

Hamish snuggled into John's chest, taking in the scent of him. "I love you too, daddy," he said. "Father told me about how brave you are and all of the amazing things that you've done together. He said that you're the best man in the world." John looked up into his bonded's eyes and was met by a grinning, sobbing Sherlock. John kissed him gently, needing proof that he and Hamish weren't going to vaporise.

Suddenly, there was a knock at the door and Mrs Hudson came in, saying "John, dear, is everything okay? I heard somebody come up here… Oh my!" Sherlock stood and hugged her. "Hullo, Mrs. Hudson, did you miss me? This is Hamish, I hope you don't mind, but he'll be living here with us. He's John and my son." He turned to Hamish. "Hamish, this is Mrs. Hudson, you need to be very kind to her, okay?" "Okay, father. I will. Nice to meet you, Mrs. Hudson." "Oh, love, you can call me Nan, if you want." "Okay, Nan."

"Sherlock, have you a bed for him? I've got a spare downstairs, he can sleep down there tonight and we can bring it up here in the morning." to which John replied, "Mrs. Hudson, you are a saint. I've still got Sherlock's old room set up like it was when he left, but it's only got a crib in it, it'd be much too small for him now. Are you sure you don't mind?" "Of course not, John, you two need to be alone, and I'm sure Hamish won't be any bother. I'll go back downstairs now, I was just checking in. Send him down when you want, I'll put him to bed. I'll leave you three to it then, shall I?"

She smiled and ducked out the door. Hamish indeed began to yawn not long afterward, and tugged on John's pant leg as he rubbed his eye. John was making tea in the kitchen at the time and very nearly dropped the box of teabags. "Oh, Hamish, love, what is it?" "Can you please tell me a story, daddy? Father always reads them in Russian and I'm too tired to translate." John grinned and picked Hamish up, shifting him to his left hip.

"Sherlock, love, what should I read to Hamish? He's asking for a story." Sherlock looked up from the maths sheet that he was writing for Hamish to solve the next day. "I've been reading him War and Peace, but if you want you could read something else. He's expressed an interest in the Chronicles of Narnia, but children's fiction isn't exactly my area, I had hoped you would read them."

"War and Peace-! Sherlock, he's three!" John set Hamish down and continued to make his tea. "I know, I should have read it to him sooner, but I was kind of busy." "Sherlock, I _still_ haven't read War and Peace! It's hardly suitable material for a toddler!" "He's the one who requested it, I was going to start with On the Origin of Species but he said it was dull! I didn't have anything else and I thought it would occupy him for a while."

"In Russian?" John raised an eyebrow. "Of course. Hamish speaks all of the languages that I do, in some cases more fluently than Mycroft." Hamish pulled on John's pant leg again, this time holding up a copy of The Hobbit. "Daddy, can you read this one? Please?" John abandoned his tea and carried Hamish to his armchair. _We're still not finished this conversation, _he told Sherlock as he and Hame got settled.

oOo

John crept up the stairs, hoping not to wake Hamish and cause Mrs. Hudson trouble. He had been relatively easy to get to bed; John was pleasantly surprised. Hame and Sherlock had so many personality traits in common that John would have imagined that he would be an absolute nightmare to get to sleep. _Sherlock, love, are you still awake?_ When John had gone downstairs 45 minutes ago, the detective had been curled in front of the fireplace like a kitten; the collar and tags had certainly done nothing to hinder the illusion.

**Marginally**, came the response half a minute later as John came into the living room; Sherlock didn't appear to be in there, though. _Where are you, love?_ **Bedroom. **John smiled and climbed the next flight of stairs. When he got to the doorframe, he stopped dead. There, kneeling beside the bed, facing him, was Sherlock, in the same head-down position that he usually took when he wanted John to be in charge. John stepped slowly forward, and knelt in front of his bonded.

John cupped Sherlock's face in his hands, brushing over his cheekbones and re-memorising every detail, every new scar, every slightly-more-pronounced line, down to the last pore. He hadn't realised that he was crying until Sherlock whispered, "Please don't cry, my love, please forgive me," and reached forward to brush away his tears. They kissed gently, as sweetly as they both knew how, the kind of kiss that could heal three years' worth of hurt. Sherlock once again found himself cataloguing John's taste, his scent, the feeling of his lips, his teeth, his tongue…

John's hands shook as they travelled over Sherlock's shoulders, his arms, and held his hands, rubbing circles on his palms. "I've missed you so much, Sherlock," he murmured, his eyes still closed and his lips still brushing against his love's. "I'm sorry that I had to leave, sir," Sherlock kissed him briefly again, "And I'm so sorry for deceiving you," a nip, "I love you so much, sir, I love you, I love you…" John released Sherlock's hands and wrapped his arms around his sweetheart's waist.

"I love you too, my darling, I'm so glad that you're home now, I've missed you so…" he buried his face into Sherlock's shoulder. "Can we move up to the bed? Sorry, it's just that, my knees…" Sherlock stood and practically lifted John onto the bed. He lay beside his love with his head in his lap, looking up at him. "Better?" "Yes, thank you, love. I'm sorry I'm so… tearful, it's just that…" **shhh, John, love, darling, it's okay, I'm here, I'm here and I love you more than anybody else in the whole world… Okay, with the possible exception of Hamish, but he's 50% you, so I don't think that he really counts. It's really, truly okay, I promise I'll never leave you again, my love, please forgive me, but I had to make you safe. I couldn't afford to lose you. **

Sherlock's hands began to wander around John's chest as he 'spoke', earning shivers and slight moans from _his_ John. Sherlock sat up and kissed him again, more deeply this time, tracing around his abdomen and sides, gently working his fingers under his jumper, and eventually they had to part their lips for a minute, both to breathe and to remove the bloody fucking jumper. John had lost weight, and a lot of it… But calculating the exact amount wasn't exactly Sherlock's main incentive right now. He could calculate that later.

As Sherlock's fingers began to trace patterns around John's chest, John grabbed his hands. "Sherlock… I need you, my love, my darling, please allow me to take you, will you let me, please? I need to know that you still want me, that you'll allow me to keep you…" Sherlock lay down on the bed on his back, his hands above his head. **Please take me, sir,** he intoned, while his vocal chords veritably whined. John mentally slapped himself for not noticing the scent earlier; Sherlock was on his heat.

John knelt with one knee on either side of his lover's hips and began to unbutton the damned purple shirt, scraping his teeth along each new inch of skin as it was exposed, past his own dog tags and stopping at each third button to leave a large bluish bruise. _How would you like me, my love? Would you like to be my pet again, or shall we be equally in charge tonight? Or do you not want me to have the choice? _**Please, sir, use my body, I'm nothing without you, I need to be hurt, I've hurt you so badly, I need to be punished, please don't hold back, sir, I've longed for this, for you, for far too long…**

John hesitated slightly. _I don't know if I'll be able to hurt you for a long while, Sherlock,_ he admitted. **Then do everything else, please, sir, I need you… **John moaned deeply at how desperate Sherlock sounded for him. He kissed Sherlock once again, his fingers slipping as he tried to undo the damned buckle on the taller man's belt.

Eventually he got it and kissed a trail down his body, licking over and healing the bruises he had left earlier and committing each new scar to memory, wishing that he'd been there to heal those as well. He veritably worshipped Sherlock's body, leaving the man below him keening and moaning incoherently. "John, please…" The detective's voice shook, and his pronunciation was slightly off; Not a lisp in the stereotypical sense where "etheth thound like thith," but more of a visible thing. (A/N; basically [and I don't know if you've even noticed it at all; I can only tell if I'm looking at him while he's speaking] it's like a more intense version of Benedict's lisp.)

Sherlock's hands flew to his mouth. John paused and looked up, confused. _Was that a lisp? _**Oh, do shut up, John. Why did you think I didn't speak out loud to you for the first three weeks I knew you? **"Sherlock, my love," John murmured as he brushed his lips up Sherlock's abdomen, "I think it's adorable." He kissed his cheek gently. Sherlock made to huff and turn away, but then John trapped his hip firmly with his open hand. "Remember who's in charge here, pet," he whispered. "In fact, I think that whenever we're alone, whether in this room or elsewhere, that you should let me hear your voice like that. It's rather pretty."

"Yes, sir. I will. I'm sorry for not telling you sooner, sir." John kissed him deeply once again and began to work the fabric of Sherlock's shirt off of his shoulders, casting it aside carelessly. He gently began moving his lips further down his lover's body once again. _I will forgive you this once for neglecting to let me know, but there will be repercussions the next time._ He took a small amount of Sherlock's skin between his teeth, biting down hard, breaking through the skin, and then immediately laved his tongue over the wound, closing it but leaving a small scar.

"As for tonight's repercussions, I should think that twenty minutes should do." "Twenty minutes of what, sir?" John didn't utter another word as he stripped Sherlock of the remainder of his clothing, springing his erection free and causing the raven-haired man to moan wantonly. John reached into the bedside table, pulling out a length of the same white cotton rope that they had always used for bondage; John didn't feel the need to be questioned about spousal abuse due to the welts commonly produced by handcuffs.

He tied his Omega to the bed, one limb to each corner, spread beautifully for him. He knelt between Sherlock's knees, gently stroking the alabaster skin presented to him. "I don't think that I've deprived you of enough for you to quite enjoy what I have in store for you… he whispered before retreating and pulling out a black blindfold and a spider gag. He fitted these to his lover's face and looked him over. Then he returned again to the table, pulling out the blue vibrator, several clothespins and a length of string.

oOo

Twenty minutes later, after a quick nap on the couch and a shower, John came back upstairs with a glass of water for Sherlock. "Have you been good, my pet?" he inquired as he strode in, and was nearly struck down by the sight before him; having taken a mild inhibitor so that he could have some sleep, John hadn't known that Sherlock would have come already and have recovered to be hard and whining for him.

Sherlock had the vibrator plunged into his ass at just the angle to brush against his prostate teasingly, and it was set to a pitifully low setting. The clothespins had been pegged to the more sensitive places around his abdomen, with the string threaded into them: his nipples, along the edges of his ribs, his hipbones, and just below his navel. John strode closer, rubbing his love's shoulder tenderly.

He gave Sherlock a dribble of water; The gag held his mouth open and had the tendency to dry his mouth out. The brunet coughed slightly before adjusting and opening his throat for more water. "Love, have you come without my permission?" Sherlock nodded, feeling guilty. John quickly tugged upward on one end of the string, causing the clothespins to detach from Sherlock quite suddenly and making him yelp in pain.

They left rather large welts on his alabaster skin, now marred not only with all of his previous scars, but also with stretch marks from his pregnancy. John began to kiss each of the marks over, licking and healing each bruise, earning a shudder from Sherlock at each. He then returned his attention to punishment, and turned the vibrator down even further and removed the blindfold, before releasing Sherlock's limbs from the rope.

"On your knees, pet, on the floor" he called as he stood, stripping himself of his pyjamas. "Have some water first." Sherlock complied, feeling the vibrator move deeper inside of him as he sat, his limbs sore. John hadn't said that he could stretch, however, and so he didn't. John allowed his submissive to put the glass back on the table before positioning himself, gripping Sherlock's hair as he thrust without pre-amble into Sherlock's mouth.

Sherlock moaned deeply around John's cock as he took control even more over the detective, roughly grasping his curls and forcing himself further into the wet heat awaiting him. After a few minutes, John released Sherlock's head and released him from the gag, dropping to his knees and massaging and kissing his jaw, whispering "I'm so sorry, my love, forgive me? Won't you please forgive me, my darling? I don't think that I can do this to you anymore, Sherlock, love…"

By this point, he was sobbing gently again, and Sherlock held him close, stroking his shoulders gently and cooing in his ear that "It's okay now, John, my love, I'm here now, I've got you, I'm never going to let you go again, my darling, I promise, I swear to you that I'll keep you safe no matter what, you're safe, I'm safe, Hamish is safe, and I swear to you that we'll be okay, my love, it's okay, I'm here… I love you so much, John, I'm so proud of you, and I will always love you, I will always protect you, I swear, I'll keep you safe…"

Eventually the need to reassure himself that this wasn't just another dream overtook John again, and his hands began to wander over his recently returned love. He gently kissed Sherlock's bond scar, now a slightly darker pink than before; It would take a while before they were back to normal. As his hands roamed over his darling's body, John began to rut himself against him. Sherlock chuckled and lifted them both to the bed, laying on his back with his legs spread, knees up, the way that he knew John liked to take him.

John turned the vibrator off and eased it out of Sherlock's arse, watching how his now-vacant hole fluttered at the cold air. He quickly situated himself and began to press the tip of his cock into his love, kissing his chest, neck and face as he did, feeling as Sherlock's breath caught and his heart stuttered, and he stilled as soon as he was fully seated, as much for himself to adjust as for Sherlock. The familiar feeling was so intense; John very nearly choked. "Sherlock- My love, I can't-" "That's okay, love, let go… please, John, let go for me, please…"

John came with a muffled cry, bucking into Sherlock's heat and biting into the scar on his neck, breaking the skin once more. The pain and the sight of his love in such a state pushed Sherlock over the edge and he came, biting into John's wrist as it was offered to him. They lapped at the re-opened wounds, tasting each other's blood and healing each other. Then John moved lower down Sherlock's abdomen and gently licked him clean, even going so far as to suck what he could of his own seed out of him, tasting the combination of it with Sherlock's lubricant. He could feel as Sherlock pulsed beneath him, and he smiled, lapping up the last of the mess without swallowing before returning to kiss Sherlock, letting the detective taste himself. They held each other gently, kissing and whispering lovely things to each other as they drifted off.


	5. Chapter 5

The next morning, John woke to an empty bed and began to panic, curling himself into a ball and clutching at the sheets still wrapped about him.

**John, love, it's okay, I've just gone to get Hamish. We'll make you breakfast, stay in bed. **

_Oh my God, Sherlock, I thought you were still gone…_

**I know, love, I'm sorry. We'll be right up, we'll all have breakfast together, hmm? I'll make pancakes and sausages. Do you want scrambled eggs?**

_Yes, please, love, that would be wonderful. Do you want me to look after Hamish? _

At that moment, there was the pounding of a toddler's feet against the landing just outside John's room, followed by Hamish bursting into the room.

"Daddy! Time to get up now!" He yelled, clambering up onto the bed to hug John. He was followed, not seconds later, by Sherlock.

"Hamish, let your dad sleep, love! You need to come downstairs and practise your violin anyway, love, come on!" he hissed as Hamish began to pull on John's ears.

John began to laugh and sat up, hugging Hamish close.

"Good morning, love, did you sleep well?"

"Yes! Nan made muffins! Lemon-cranberry ones!" John kissed the top of his hair, feeling the curls tickle his nose.

"Mrs. Hudson's going to spoil him, John," Sherlock whined from the doorframe.

"Her and Mycroft. He dropped by this morning with a bicycle and an entomology encyclopaedia for him. Nine volumes, John! Nine! I can only imagine how my mother and father will pamper him!"

John chuckled up until the mention of Siger. He had yet to meet him, and he was terrified to.

"Are you still in contact with him? After all that he's done to you?"

"I have to be, John, he's my mother's alpha. They were bonded before the Omega Protection Act, so in order to contact my mother, you have to first contact my father. In the eyes of the law, she's still his property, until he dies. I was as well, to a slightly lesser extent, until we bonded. Mycroft has had to cut contact with our parents, as he's the alpha out of the two of us, and he's a stronger alpha than father, which is saying something. Mycroft was the head alpha in our family until I bonded with you, which makes you technically the new head of house."

John nodded, remembering when he had had to leave his parents; They too had been bonded before the Omega Protection Act, but his father was a beta, so although he could no longer contact him, he was his own person and was not in anyone's eyes John's mother's property. However, they hadn't exactly parted on good terms, and so for the past fifteen years, the only news John had had of his parents was delivered through Harry and Clara.

"Yeah, I understand, love. That's the curse of this whole thing. I only hope Hamish turns out to be an omega or a beta, or we'll have to lose him…" By this point, Hamish was literally climbing all over John, stepping on his face.

"What are you talking about, daddy? You won't lose me, I'm right here! Don't be so silly." John pulled him down from his shoulders and kissed his forehead.

"You're right, Hame, I'm sorry. How about we go downstairs now, okay? Just let me get my pyjamas on and then I'd like to hear you play the violin, if that's alright. I can read to you some more after," he submitted, cuddling the three year old close.

"Come on, Hamish, you can help me with the eggs," Sherlock offered as he picked him up and held him on his hip. After they left, John stretched out and smiled, indescribably glad to have his family back with him. He quickly got dressed and put his robe on over his pyjamas before going downstairs. Sherlock's face and arms were completely coated in flour and Hamish was giggling as his father made faces at him while he mixed the pancake batter. John came in and wrapped his arms around Sherlock's waist from behind, burying his face in his love's shirt, drowning in his scent.

John stretched up on his toes and nuzzled Sherlock's neck and shoulders, re-marking him with his scent, and leaving a trail of tiny kisses. Sherlock's stomach fluttered at the tenderness that his love took with this small and yet significant thing.

"I love you, John, my darling," he murmured as he leant into the gentle touch of his doctor.

"Ewww, papa, daddy, stop it, kissing's gross!" came Hamish's voice from in front of them. Both men giggled and Sherlock went back to making breakfast. John lifted Hamish from where he was standing on a kitchen chair.

"Come on, love, I'll read to you some more, if you'd like."

"Okay! I want to practise my violin first though, so you can hear!"

"That sounds lovely, Hame, I'd like that very much. What have you been learning?" John asked as he carried Hamish into the sitting room.

"Father's been teaching me the song he wrote for you, as he says I've mastered everything else that he had access to." Sherlock piped up here.

"Hamish, why don't you play _un comptine d'un autre été_? I want to hear it again and you play it beautifully."

"Alright, papa! Can I use your violin? I think mine's still at Molly's."

"Yes, but please be careful with it, will you? It was your great-grandfather's, and I was rather fond of him."

As Hamish began to play, John's eyes widened. Hamish was incredibly skilled; He played with the same authority as most concert violinists ten times his age. The song itself was melancholy but not devoid of hope, and it was complex without being overbearing, as if it were an Impressionist-period painting; Simple, elegant, and bursting with colours and emotions.

As the song ended, Hamish beamed at John and as soon as he had safely put the instrument away he ran up to his dad to crawl up into his lap.

"Was it okay, daddy? Papa says that it should really be played on piano, but he let me learn it anyway. Can you read to me now, please?

oOo

Later on, John and Hamish were just getting in the door from a walk in Regent's Park when they heard shouting and the protestations of Sherlock's violin as he drew the bow sharply across the strings.

"Sounds like your uncle Mycroft came by, Hame," John remarked as he carried the boy up the stairs to their flat.

_Everything all right, love?_ he asked.

**Just an inconvenience. My parents decided to come by.** John stiffened.

**It's okay, John, just a spat. You and Hamish can come up here.**

John walked in the door, pulling Hamish off of his shoulders.

"I suppose you're the poofter who's robbed my son of a normal existence?" The speaker was a tall, beefy-looking alpha with dark ginger hair and a bushy moustache. John assumed his Captain John Hamish Watson stance and stared him down.

"I suppose you're the bastard who's left Sherlock scarred in more ways than one because of it?" he retorted, practically spitting the words into the taller man's face. Siger balked and backed away minutely.

The stare down continued for several minutes with a few low growls from Siger, but all present knew that John had gotten the better of him in this situation. Finally, John spoke again, growling.

"If you ever lay a finger on Sherlock again, I will not hesitate to rip your throat out. You will allow him to contact his mother without you as an intermediary, and you will never set foot in this flat again. You should count yourself lucky that I hadn't already hunted you down after all that you've done to him. You should know that Sherlock's had to talk me down from finding you more than once. You will never have the chance to contact Hamish, and if I ever see that you have tried to, I will find you, and nobody will ever find your remains. Leave."

Siger was absolutely furious, but found himself unable to refuse the stronger Alpha's orders, strutting out of the flat with a false air of pride. Violet stayed behind, and smiled at John.

"Thank you so much, John, I've tried so many times to make him leave Sherlock alone but obviously as an omega I couldn't. I'm so proud that Sherlock found you, love."

After she hugged him tight, she kneeled to hug Hamish, promising that she would see him soon. As she stood to leave, Sherlock hugged her, crying gently into her shoulder and apologizing that she had to deal with Siger. Suddenly she stiffened, her eyes wide.

"Mycroft's downstairs and your father is about to rip his throat out!" She yelled as she ran out the door. Sherlock and John dashed after her, leaving Hamish upstairs for the moment.

The three attempted to pull Siger off of Mycroft, calling for help as the older man began to tear through his son's skin. Greg had arrived with Mycroft and had been trying to separate the two for the past three and a half minutes. Suddenly, the lot of them found that they were coated in white foam and they turned, even Siger, to see Martha Hudson, standing in the door of 221, in slippers, pyjamas, and a dressing gown, holding a fire extinguisher.

Siger strode away, wiping off the foam, visibly embarrassed to have been publicly interrupted but not in the least ashamed of having wounded his son. Violet kissed Mycroft's cheek briefly before Siger pulled her into the car that was waiting for them at the kerb.

The four men returned upstairs after thanking Mrs. Hudson profusely and found that Hamish already had John's medical kit down from the medicine cabinet in the bathroom (with the aide of a chair dragged from the kitchen). He was now poring over the encyclopaedia that Mycroft got him on the floor of the sitting room, a biscuit in hand. John sat Mycroft down and bandaged the worst of the wounds Siger had inflicted before Greg and Mycroft stepped out to the bathroom for a moment so Greg could heal the remainder of them.

"Thank you, John, Sherlock," Mycroft said as they emerged from the bathroom.

"Greg, dear, this is Hamish. Hamish, this is-"

"That's Lestrade, he's your Omega. He's kind of like an uncle for me?" Hamish interrupted.

"Yes, precisely. We've actually got some news… Greg, dear, would you like to..? Or shall I?"

"We're expecting," said Lestrade, his cheeks flushing a bit.

"Which means, Brother Dear, that you'll soon have a little niblingi to help with, and Hamish, of course, will have a cousin." Hamish looked up and scowled at Mycroft.

"Don't feed him too much cake."

oOo

i"nibling" is the gender neutral equivalent to niece or nephew.


End file.
